Poetry

To Sleep…

(Who can guess where this comes from?)

To drift away where the present melts

Where I can’t feel the massive welts

That hurt me so – inside my heart

And seem to be on every part

Of me. Inside, outside – leaking through

Isn’t living enough to do?

I’m swimming through my honeyed life

But it’s nothing but pain and strife

Sleeping is my favourite thing

No roses or presents all tied up with string

The delicious feeling of more time in bed

I’ll sleep and I’ll sleep and I’ll sleep ’till I’m dead

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